Too much
by Furtively Lethargic
Summary: Rashel accepted her duties and she failed. It was just too much. One-shot. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JEN-DARLING!


**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own Night World.

**A/N**: This is for the lovely Jen, **xXlamia vampressXx**;happy birthday! :)

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**Too Much**

Rashel felt overwhelmed. She felt tired and utterly responsible for all the havoc that had happened in the past few days. She felt like screaming and fighting and crying. She wanted to stop everything for a moment—maybe for a minute or two—and just . . . _breathe_.

The responsibilities set on her shoulders were far too big, she daresay. But it wasn't anything she _couldn't_ handle.

After all, her mission was simple. Help save the world and rescue humans from hazardous (Night-World-related, in this case) situations. It didn't sound hard. But, damn it, she was wrong. So, so wrong.

She was in her room—well, in her and Quinn's bedroom—as she stood by the window, glaring.

Perhaps if she was fast enough, strong enough, _smart_ enough . . . then Rashel had no doubt that she would've prevented this mayhem. Thierry wouldn't be sending other Daybreak agents to save and rescue the world. Thierry wouldn't be risking his agents' lives for what Rashel hadn't unexpected.

It was all her fault. If only she was fast enough. And strong enough. And smart enough. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .

Rashel stepped back from the window and slowly paced the distance between the window and the closet. Her eyes felt heavy and her head felt muffled. She doesn't feel free. She felt . . . compressed with responsibilities. It wasn't like she didn't accept them. In fact, she accepted her responsibilities to save people when she became a vampire hunter. And then, she accepted her responsibilities to save humans (and the damned world) as a Daybreaker. _She accepted them_.

And she failed to uphold her duty. She simply wasn't _enough_.

Rashel suddenly felt very, very tired—so she slid down on her knees and sat on her butt, facing their closet. As an afterthought, she reclined down on the floor; staring up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. She accepted it and she failed. Her eyes began to shut ever so leisurely; and she vaguely wondered if she could die on the floor just by thinking of her failures.

But then again, it's not like this whole turmoil is all her fault. No one could've prevented it. No one expected it. _But still_, she thought stubbornly as she scrunched her eyes tighter, _I could've _done_ something to prevent this._

Of course, she already knew that she couldn't have done anything to prevent this.

Wrapping herself in accusatory thoughts, Rashel continued to rest on the floor with her eyes closed and her arm lying across her forehead.

* * *

Forty-seven minutes later, Quinn was strolling back to his room with his hands in his pockets.

He had finished doing his tasks for Thierry and was exhausted to the point where he wanted to just sleep on the ground—right here, right now. But he wanted to sleep with Rashel; to feel her soothing warm body against his, to smell her feminine scent, to feel her heart pulsing by his body, to bury his face in her soft hair . . .

As soon as he stepped in the room, however, Quinn felt weak and the color of his face drained away.

Rashel was lying on the floor, motionless. Although he saw no blood, nor could he smell any, Quinn was downright worried to see his soulmate on the floor. It gave him a vampire heart attack, and it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Quickly, Quinn rushed towards his soulmate, his hands shaking and a bit cold while he pressed his fingers on her warm neck; feeling the strong and healthy beat of her heart. Breathing a sigh of relief, and the pain in his chest going away, Quinn gently tugged her arm away from her forehead.

"Rashel?" he called softly. Her eyes were closed tight, and her eyebrows were furrowed. Idly, he wondered if she was having a nightmare.

"Quinn . . ." she murmured, still with her eyes shut. "It's too much."

Blinking in surprise, Quinn lightly ran his fingers up her neck and traced the contours of her face. "What's too much?" he asked.

"Everything," Rashel mumbled, opening her eyes. Her verdant eyes stared at him; sorrowfully, guiltily . . . "I couldn't do it. I couldn't-"

Instantly grasping on what she was saying, Quinn shook his head, cupping her face in his hands. He slightly hovered over her. "It's not your fault."

"It is," she argued, tears burning her eyes. Her throat felt thick, the back of her nose stung, and her eyes were burning with warm tears. "If I could've expected the-"

"No one did. Not even Thierry. It was the Dragon's intention to fool us into their trap; their unbelievably _outstanding_ trap-"

In a flash, Rashel pushed herself up from the floor—nearly knocking Quinn off his butt in the process. "But-"

"It's not your fault," he repeated softly, reaching out to her and pulling her in his embrace. Gently, Quinn pulled her hair out of its tight ponytail and ran his fingers through her dark locks.

"It is." Her voice was thick, and Rashel wanted to cry. But she won't. It's not worth it.

"Stop blaming yourself. Rashel, no one in this mansion anticipated it." He marginally pulled away to give her a steady look. Her eyes were watery with angry tears—frustration that was directed to herself. "No one anticipated it. No one blames you. Please," Quinn murmured, using his forefinger and thumb to catch her chin and tilt it up towards his, "don't be angry at yourself."

And then she cried. Perhaps it was Quinn. Perhaps it was the pent-up emotions she had. Perhaps it was the words he said. Well, whatever it was; it made her inner walls snap.

Her shoulders shook as she continued to cry on Quinn's chest. Her hands fisted his shirt and Quinn let her ruin his shirt. He didn't care. The only thing he cared about at the moment was making Rashel realize that it wasn't her fault that people got killed. People die every day. Quinn wanted to make Rashel realize that she had done what she could and that no one blamed her.

"It's alright," he murmured in her hair, rubbing her back.

Faintly, Quinn wondered when the last time she ever cried like this; _if_ she ever cried like this at all.

"It's all my fault," she was mumbling—repeating. Blaming.

"No, it's not," Quinn answered. He somewhat pulled away from his soulmate, trying to make her look at him; but she wouldn't. Rashel kept her head bowed, as if she couldn't meet his gaze because she was too busy accusing herself for all the deaths that occurred in the few days that had passed. "Look at me," he said.

Rashel sniffed and shook her head, a few tears dripping down her wet eyelashes.

Quinn frowned and took her chin in between his forefinger and thumb once again, effectively bringing her gaze to meet his. "It's not your fault. How can I make you understand that?"

"You won't," she said quietly, bringing her green eyes down.

"_Look_ at me, Rashel," Quinn ordered—not harshly. Just with authority.

She lifted her gaze from the ground.

"It's not your fault. No matter how many times you blame yourself, or how many reasons you come up with to support your silliness of accusing yourself; _it is not your fault_. You've done what you could. I've done what I could. Thierry had done what he could- and he still is. I'm still doing what I can. And I know that _you_'re doing what you can," Quinn said. He leaned closer and firmly pressed his mouth on hers. "It's not your fault. No one's blaming you."

Rashel watched him for a long moment before sniffing and burying her face in his shoulder. "I hate crying," she said instead. Quinn smiled, knowing that he persuaded his soulmate to stop beating herself up for something she didn't do . . . something she couldn't prevent from happening.

"Why?" he asked, tenderly drawing circles on the small of her back.

"It doesn't help anything," she muttered. "I hate crying." Rashel's words were muffled by his shirt. He could feel her lips mumbling other words against his shirt.

"Well, you can cry anytime you want when I'm around," Quinn murmured in her ear. She shivered at his deep voice. "And crying _does_ help."

Rashel sniffed. "How?" she asked.

"Besides giving you snots and headaches, they're actually a good release when things are too much," Quinn said. With that, he lifted her face from his shoulder and kissed her.

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**A/N:** I hope you liked it! Sorry if it wasn't such a happy thingamabob! But I still hoped you guys enjoyed it! And I hoped _you_ enjoyed it, **Jen**! Happy, happy birthday! And see you in a few days gurlie! ;) We shall prepare ourselves for hardcore fangirlism for that Saturday…AND I CANNOT WAIT. :D

Anyways, **thank you guys for reading/reviewing/subscribing/favorite-ing/whatever-ing (to) this story!**

**Review**? Perhaps I should put this question before I thank y'alls, huh? **Happy Birthday Jen-darling**! ;)


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